Seven
by loving-life
Summary: An unloved princess ... a jealous queen ... a hidden prince ... an ancient gift ... a deadly curse ... and seven little men. Snow White with a twist that you never saw coming. .:evil laugh:. CHAPTER 2 UP!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer (as usual): Yup, I credit someone else for coming up with the original idea of Snow White. I've just twisted it around a bit to fit my evil purposes. Gwa ha ha! But a lot of it is mine. Mine, all mine ... I was just wondering if fairy tales are actually copyrighted so you HAVE to disclaim. Or whatever ... Ramblings ...

Anyway, just for the record: Gwyneira means "white snow" in Welsh. I thought that sounded a little better than the name Snow White which I would never name my child. Ever. The other names have no really significant meaning.

Review to tell me what you like/what needs work. NO FLAMES! I don't flame you, you don't flame me. Fair deal?

Enough of me. On with the story!

**Seven: A Fairy-Tale**

**Prologue**

White.

As the exhausted man stumbled through yet another drift, he cursed the unrelenting white that surrounded him, tearing at his cloak and ripping long fingers of cold into his face. It never ceased, just kept falling, swirling, spinning, until he was lost and wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget everything that had happened.

A baby's quiet wail pierced the air and the man became conscious of the bundle he held close to his chest. He leaned down and a pair of emerald eyes met his. The man gazed past them, past the eyes so much like his wife's ...

_Screams tore the air. Outside the room, Henrich paced impatiently, wanting to do something but helpless as to what. _

_The midwife ran through the doors holding rags stained dark with blood. Bile rose in Henrich's throat, and he only just made it out the door before he vomited. Wiping his mouth on his sweaty sleeve, he turned to see the midwife standing in the doorway. _

"_The babe is born," she said. Henrich started for the door, but something in the midwife's face gave him pause. _

"_What's the matter?" he asked. When she said nothing, he repeated the question, demanding an answer from her._

"'_Tis your wife," she said finally, hesitating. "She is too weak. She won't make it through the night."_

The babe's persistent cries shattered Henrich's reverie, and he realized that she was hungry, that she hadn't been fed since his hasty flight last night. He looked around, as if expecting the falling snow to yield milk for his child. When none came, desperation reigned on his worn face.

"'Tis all right, child," he whispered to the little babe who quieted down at the sound of his voice. "We'll find something."

Pulling the bundle closer to his chest for warmth, he staggered through the snow, each step harder and harder until he felt he could not go on any longer. Minutes dragged by, minutes that turned into hours, and the baby's cries faded into the screaming wind. Henrich knew the baby would die soon if he didn't find food.

_Amelie lay still upon the big bed when Henrich entered. Her face was pale and her normally glossy hair splayed in damp waves across the sweat-stained pillow. A tiny baby slept safely in the cradle of her arms. _

"_Amelie," he whispered, brushing back her hair with a trembling hand. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open—eyes as green as emeralds. Slowly, she smiled at him._

"_A girl, Henrich," she said, each word an effort. "A little girl."_

_Henrich looked at the baby, looked into eyes identical to his wife's. A shock of dark hair just brushed the tiny head, startling black against the pink of her skin and the pale of her mother's. _

"_She's beautiful," he said, stroking the tiny hand._

"_Her name is Gwyneira," Amelie said softly. "Like the snow that welcomed her into the world." Her face twisted in pain. "And like the snow that will usher me out."_

"_No!" Henrich said fiercely, grabbing his wife's hand. "No, don't talk that way!"_

"_Henrich." And he fell silent. Amelie struggled against pain for a moment and then turned to him. "There is something special about our daughter. Guard her. Keep her safe against the evil that lies around us. But above all, love her. Love her as I love you both."_

_The slender white hand stiffened in his and as Henrich watched, tears streaming down his face, Amelie—his beautiful, kind, caring wife—died._

Henrich watched as all color slowly drained from Gwyneira's face and the baby's breathing slowed. He pressed her closer, desperate for her to live. Still, the breathing slowed until ...

"Damn you!" he screamed to the uncaring winds. "Damn you!" He stumbled forward and fell, tumbling down a drift that lasted forever, clutching the little child to his chest.

Something dark loomed in front of him; something solid stopped his descent. He lay motionless in the snow for a long time, gazing up into the grey sky. Death was welcome; now that Gwyn was gone he had nothing left to live for. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of death climbing slowly up his body.

"Excuse me?"

His eyes flashed open. A dark figure stood in front of him, blocking the snow from falling on his face.

His lips tried to form words, tried to beg for help, but he was too cold. The snow had frozen him until he could no longer feel his body.

As if on cue, Gwyn's faint cries slit the frozen air. The figure's face turned to the little bundle at his chest.

"A babe?"

Henrich nodded woodenly. Suddenly the figure bent down and, effortlessly, lifted him into the air. Henrich clutched at Gwyn, holding her close even when warmth and darkness enveloped him in a dead faint.

* * *

Henrich woke to the sound of a softly crackling fire and warmth seeping through his veins like wine. If he kept his eyes closed, he could imagine Amelie cooking a delicious meal over the fire.

Then he remembered—Amelie, Gwyn, snow, the dark figure—and his eyes flew open. He sat up abruptly and pain went shooting through his body. Slowly, he laid back down.

"Where ... is ... Gwyn?" he gasped.

Gentle hands helped him sit forward; soft hands made him comfortable. He peered into the palely lit room but still he could not see the person's face.

"She's sleeping," the person said, and Henrich realized it was a woman's voice as she handed him Gwyn. To his surprise, Gwyn's face was pink with health and with the heaviness of milk in her belly.

"Thank you," he said, cradling the little body next to his own. He heard the woman retreat to a far corner where the fire could not reach her face. He wondered if perhaps she was disfigured and ashamed of her appearance.

"You look as if you need something," the woman said abruptly. Her voice was old, but powerful, as if she lived a rich, full life.

"My wife died," Henrich said, feeling the need to confess something to the stranger who had helped his baby live.

A noise from the corner. Sympathy? Henrich wondered.

The woman rose and began tending the fire, her back to Henrich. He looked down at Gwyn, still peacefully sleeping in his arms. His throat tightened as he thought of his wife, so young, so beautiful, so good!

"Your child has drunk unicorn's milk," the woman said suddenly. Henrich turned, stared at her.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

She straightened, still staring into the fire. "It is a protection from evil. A gift from the forest. Your child is special, Henrich. Guard her. Keep her safe from the evil that lies around you." She turned, but still he could not see her face. A cold shiver was running down his back. "You have been given a precious gift. Nothing, not gold or jewels, can ever replace her."

Silence. Henrich leaned back, his heart beating fast in his chest.

Suddenly, the woman became brisk. "I have talked too much and you must sleep. But before you do, I will grant you one wish. Not your wife's life," she said, seeing him open his mouth. "I cannot raise the dead. Something else."

Henrich gazed out the window into the swirling snow.

"I wish for a kingdom," he said suddenly, looking at her. "I wish to be a king, so that I may give my daughter everything she can ever want."

The woman paused. Henrich yawned, wondering if she had heard him.

Then, softly, from beneath the crackle of the fire:

"Sleep well, King Henrich. Your wish has been granted."

Darkness once more surrounded Henrich as he fell into a deep sleep and into the land of dreams.

* * *

Okay, now hit the lovely review button and tell me what you think. Please! I beg you! (Do I sense desperation here?)

em


	2. Chapter 1: Forest Witch

Hello, all! Thank you for making it to chapter one on my loverly story (kind of, anyway.) And thank you to the wonderful reviewers! Perhaps there will be more ... ... ...

**amy:** Hopefully this should satisfy your desire to hear more. It's rather short, but at least it's something. Right? Right? And I'm glad you can see things that are happening. Sometimes I worry that I describe too much. Oh well ...

**kirstie:** Tell me if Gwyn starts turning spoiled-bratty. I also hate it when characters turn out like that and you just want to tell them to get a brain! Anyway ... thank you so very much for the tip about "demanding reviews". It probably sounds rather callow of me and I can see why it would turn you off from the rest of the story. So no more demanded reviews! (But please review anyway ... .:hint, hint:.)

**Glitterpoison:** Yes, it is a loverly button! Thank you for pushing it. But beware of most purple buttons ... dum dum dumm! Okay, craziness overwith. Yay! You like my writing!

**Fiyero:** I heart Wicked! My sister listens to it A LOT and I've kind of got hooked on it. Anyway ... yes, grammar is good. I'm obsessive about grammar. Probably not entirely a good thing ... and I also like the three dot thing. I think there is a part of the Hallmark Snow White that's influencing this, 'cuz it kind of runs toward the almost dark area. A more mature Snow White. Or whatever.

Okay, now to the story! (Sorry it's so short.)

**Chapter One**

The witch lived deep within the forest, far beyond the borders of where even the bravest hunter dared to go. She was not a good witch, as some witches are. She was a dark enchantress of the oldest kind, and the forest was hers. It was hers because she had set upon it a horrible curse that made even the dim sunlight that permeated the shadows seem evil.

She owned the forest but she wasn't happy. She wanted more—more power, more kingdoms, more riches. Looking around her cottage, she saw only poverty and hideousness. She believed herself to be better than that and therefore wanted to _be _better than what her life had given her.

And so, it was no surprise that she paid a visit to a new, unmarried king, carrying in the deep folds of her cloak a vial of the most powerful potion she could conjure—a love potion.

* * *

Gwyn was seven when her father remarried. There were no endless rehearsal dinners, no flurries of anticipation after a year of planning, no concourses of guests wishing her father and his new bride the best. The priest and servants were the only wedding guests, and the chapel was as quiet as stone when Gwyn's father and his bride exchanged vows.

King Henrich married Therese, Duchess of Enwall, a month after meeting her for the very first time.

Elissa, Gwyn's maid, had muttered dire warnings under her breath while preparing the young princess for the wedding.

"There's summat about her I don't trust," she said, yanking down a simple muslin over the girl's head.

"She's very beautiful," Gwyn said softly, turning around obediently as Elissa began buttoning the dress.

"Indeed she is," the maid said, snorting. "Maybe that's why I don't like her. There's summat in her eyes that just doesn't seem right. And another thing—there is no Duchess of Enwall. I've been doing some checking around and no one has ever heard of her."

Gwyn looked up at Elissa, emerald eyes innocent. "My father loves her," she said.

Elissa gazed down at the little girl and suddenly bent down to take Gwyn's cheeks in her hands. "I hope he does, child, for your sake. I sincerely hope he does."

* * *

Gwyn was seven when her father stopped loving her.

At first she thought there was some kind of mistake when Henrich didn't come to read to her as he did every night. She sat patiently on the edge of her bed for hours until she finally realized he wasn't coming. Heart heavy with a sense of foreboding her seven year old self didn't understand, she climbed under the covers and fell into a sleep riddled with sinister dreams.

Gwyn waited every night for three months.

One cloud-cast night, she couldn't take it anymore and slipped into the halls with the intention of finding her father. She had only just turned the corner when she saw her father walking purposefully towards Therese's chambers.

"Daddy!" she cried, running forward to meet him. He turned around and pushed her away as she flung herself toward him for an embrace and a kiss.

"Not now, Gwyn," he said shortly, impatient. Gwyn was taken aback. She stared up at him, confusion in her innocent face.

"Daddy, you're supposed to read to me." She spoke slowly and clearly, as if wanting him to claim he had forgotten, that he would now read her books to her.

He didn't look at her but began walking away.

"Daddy?" Still, he walked. "Daddy!" The cry was a heart-wrenching plea from the very depths of a young child's soul, but King Henrich paid no mind to it. Someone was calling to him from behind closed doors; someone who had a sweet potion to slip into his ready drink.

The door shut.

Gwyn stood motionless in the hall, tears lying unnoticed on her cheeks. She held clutched against her chest a book.

"Daddy," she whispered.

There was no answer.


	3. Chapter 2: Mirror, Mirror

**Yet another chapter. This one's a little longer than before ... woot! Remember, review, my lovelies! Review!**

**Aerinha: **The twist is coming ...Gwa ha ha! AndI'm glad I almost made you cry. That's my goal. Tears are good. Unless, of course, it's supposed to be funny. And yes, you will learn more about the Duchess of Enwall.She's more than what she seems ...

**Fiyero:** Um ... I haven't really thought about how Henrich becomes king. I guess he just got a kingdom and then people moved in? Any ideas? I didn't really think about thatbit.And I think if I made thewitchhave some sort of dark past it would make the story way too confusing. Soevil, plain and simple, it is. Glad you approved.;-)

Anyway, read on, my pretties! (And review!)

**Chapter Two**

The sun rose, a slash of pale morning dawn against the darkness of the forest. Slowly, the slash widened until the sun's head was seen peeking over the horizon, morning spreading her rosy fingers across the castle's impenetrable stone.

Inside, life was just beginning to stir. In the kitchens, numerous servants and cooks sleepily prepared the breakfast feast. A suckling pig turned on a spit—tonight's dinner—and fruit lay in huge baskets all across the long wooden tables. The head chef shouted orders to a half-awake serving boy who promptly received a blow across the ear when he didn't move fast enough.

A woman, greying hair pulled into a tight bun, watched the scene with the air of one who had seen it many times before. She neatly sidestepped a young man carrying a teetering tray of rolls and walked over to where the head chef stood, rubbing his temples and murmuring curses in his native language.

"Good morning, Feran," she said. He looked up.

"Ah, Elissa!" he cried, taking her hand. "The queen asks of me an impossible task: to prepare her usual breakfast feast _and_ a massive supper for some prince who is visiting." He spread his hands, the wide sweep of his arms taking in the chaotic scene. "I have not enough workers and not enough time. I need a miracle."

A dark look crossed the maid's face at the mention of the queen.

"The queen does demand many a hard task," Elissa said, "but I'm sure you will do beautifully. Now, I need some food: the queen has sentenced Gwyn to a week of only a slice of bread and water per day."

Feran groaned. "What did Gwyn do this time?"

"Her skirts were wrinkled at last night's party," Elissa replied, her mouth tightening to show her distaste of such a reason for punishment. "Queen Therese was appalled."

Queen Therese had been more than appalled, Elissa thought, remembering the night before. The queen had glided over to where Gwyn sat alone in the corner, watching the whirling couples with sadness on her face. Then she had seen her stepmother, and the sadness was replaced by muted fear.

Elissa had not heard the words exchanged, but she had seen Gwyn protesting, trying to smooth out her skirts, her hands trembling, and she had seen the venom on the queen's face as she found yet another supposed fault of Gwyn's.

But the venom had melted away as a young man stepped forward to claim the queen's hand for the next dance, his eyes speaking of the infatuation all men had for the beautiful queen. The king did not notice it, Elissa thought bitterly. Still, the king did not notice anything anymore. The last ten years had turned him into a shell of a man, whose only thoughts were of state business and his wife.

There was no room in his cold heart for a daughter.

After Feran had sufficiently loaded Elissa with various fruits, meats, and rolls, she carefully hid them under her skirts and left the kitchens. Outside, servants were running about with instructions, looking distressed even though it was only morning. Elissa sighed. Queen Therese had made the last ten years impossible for everyone.

Elissa walked down a long hall lined with various paintings and scenes of the king's numerous hunting parties, as well as many portraits of Her Royal Highness, Queen Therese. Elissa shuddered. She still didn't trust or like the queen, but the necessity of keeping her position at the castle kept her silent against the queen's abuses.

Not a single portrait of the princess could be seen down the long hall—an observation that was common throughout the entire castle.

The maid stopped at a large wooden door and knocked three times.

"Come in!"

Elissa pushed open the door and was almost blinded by the sunshine pouring in from the open window, a sharp contrast to the gloomy hall she had just exited. The queen did not like the light, and so every room in the castle (except for the princess's chambers) was dark, the shades drawn.

When Elissa's eyes had sufficiently adjusted to the brightness, she noticed a figure standing on the balcony, clad in a plain blue nightgown.

"Gwyneira!" she gasped. "You come back from the balcony this minute and clothe yourself! 'Tis hardly decent to be seen in only a nightgown."

Gwyn laughed, but obeyed, leaving the French doors open behind her to let in the cool early morning breeze.

"'Tis too early," she said, disappearing behind the changing curtains. "There is no one out to see me."

Elissa drew the food out from her skirts and began setting it neatly on the side table. "Prince Ignatius arrived this morning, Gwyn. He might have seen you."

"Prince Ignatius is a pompous pig."

A pompous pig whose eyes—and hands—wandered too much,Elissa thought. She disliked him almost as much as she disliked the queen.

The maid straightened and wiped her hands on her apron, gazing out at the forest that stood hardly one hundred yards from the princess's balcony. As she watched, she saw something move through the trees on the edge of the forest. The darkness hid its identity, but Elissa had the uncomfortable feeling that it was watching the balcony ... the balcony where the princess had been standing just moments before. A strange shiver crept down her spine, and she stood to close the doors.

"I brought you some food, Gwyn," Elissa said as she latched the French doors. The darkness had ceased to move, but she had a nagging feeling that it was still watching the closed doors.

"Oh, thank you, Elissa!"

Gwyn emerged wearing a simple jade gown that had none of the frills and accessories her stepmother insisted on wearing. It was a sensible dress that perfectly matched Gwyn's emerald eyes. As Elissa watched the princess eating, she realized just how lovely Gwyn had become. Perhaps that was why the queen hated the princess so much, Elissa thought.

"Please tell Feran it was delicious," Gwyn said. "And thank you, Elissa."

"Well, I won't have you starving to death on my watch," the maid said, helping Gwyn tidy up the room so as not to leave any trace of food in case the queen decided to pay a visit. She had been known to do that.

Elissa began brushing the princess's dark brown hair, pulling it back into a soft braid. As she braided, she saw the princess's eyes lift to the French doors and watched Gwyn's reflection frown.

"Is something the matter, Gwyn?" Elissa asked. The princess shook her head, almost as if to clear her mind.

"No, I just thought I saw something move by the window," she said, then smiled. "Ridiculous, isn't it? I suppose the queen has made me jumpy ..."

But Elissa saw the unease in Gwyn's eyes and knew that Gwyn had indeed seen something.

Outside, a small hand mirror hovered in midair a moment longer before slipping away to an open window high above the princess's.

* * *

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest of them all?

Therese sat before a full-length mirror, brushing her long blonde hair the usual one hundred strokes and humming quietly to herself. To anyone who entered her chamber, it would have looked as if she were merely preening herself and murmuring vain, empty questions to her reflection.

But had they looked closer, they would have seen the lovely reflection fade away and the glass become gradually more opaque until it was as dark as the forest outside Therese's window.

And then, from the depths of the mirror, came a voice older than the winds:

"Thou, O Queen, art the fairest in the land."

Therese smiled into the mirror that was no longer a mirror. She began to braid her hair, satisfied with the mirror's answer.

But the mirror wasn't done yet. The queen had scarcely started braiding her hair when it spoke again.

"Thy beauty, O Queen, may be praised. But there is one whose beauty may yet rival thine."

The smirk slipped quickly from the queen's face, and she leapt to her feet, throwing down the brush with such force that it broke neatly in two and lay forgotten on the floor.

"How can that be?" she demanded of the mirror. "Who is this supposed beauty?" She lifted a hand mirror and gazed into her reflection. "Find the girl," she ordered. The mirror trembled and then darted out the queen's one open window.

Therese waited a moment longer and then the full length mirror began shimmering and shifting, and suddenly an image appeared in the dark glass: a girl sitting on a wooden chair, an older woman with greying hair braiding the girl's hair. Therese leaned in toward the mirror, her blue eyes dark with hatred, as she waited to see who this girl was.

The image focused. Therese let out a soft cry and fell into her chair, trembling with loathing that shook her entire body. The girl's image vanished, and the mirror once again became a mirror, reflecting the queen's eyes—eyes that held the perfect malice that only manifests itself in those that are truly evil.

"Gwyn," she murmured.


End file.
